Princess and an Assassin
by weapon13WhiteFang
Summary: An attempt at some of my own prompts I had originally posted on tree's forum. I decided to use one of my favorite HT couples. POSTED CHAPTERS EIGHTEEN
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I want to at least do five chapters of these, but we'll see where this goes. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

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><p><strong>Closet<strong>

"Did you try wiggling the handle?"

He raised a brow at her, looking slightly insulted that she would think he wouldn't already have thought to try that, before she let out a frustrated noise and reached for the handle, trying for herself. Yep. It was still stuck. They were still stuck.

"This is ridiculous. There has to be a way out of here," she exclaimed in frustration, pushing on the door with a delicate hand as he leaned back against one of the walls. A closet. Of all the places he'd ever been trapped in, a closet was the last place he'd ever thought he'd find himself stuck in. And with his uptight "boss", of all people.

When she was still unable to unlock the door or even budge it, Ilsa Pucci let out an unladylike snarl of annoyance. She was stressed. The foundation had been getting onto her about her sudden choice of employees, again, and Connie kept calling her non-stop to talk about her concerns for her safest, again, and she still had to deal with this and payments for the boys recent shenanigans, while trying to get the preparations for an upcoming banquet done. And now here she was, trapped in a closet with her most notoriously dangerous co-worker.

"I could break the door down," he suggested. He could, but she was not up for damaging any more of the building than already was done, so she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. All she had wanted to do was remove some printing paper when the door had gone and closed on her.

She had banged for hours before Guerrero had heard her and opened the door. Then much to her horror, he stepped in to grab the paper that she had been about to forget, and the door shut behind him, trapping them both. And Chance had gone off with Winston to visit an old friend of his and Ames had left, meaning they wouldn't be back til tomorrow evening!

And to make matters worse, it was dreadfully hot and humid in the closet, it being right next to the heating system of the old building. She was already starting to sweat when Guerrero had found her, having removed her top to stand in her white camisole and her pencil stripped knee-length skirt and high heels. God her feet were killing her as well! She hated standing around in her heels all the time.

Ilsa fanned herself and looked around the decent sized closet and froze when she found Guerrero had stripped off his shirt and was standing in a wifebeater and his jeans and boots. She hadn't seen Mr. Guerrero so exposed before. Never even having seen his arms. He was always covering himself professionally with his simple but comfortable and business like attire.

He was a small but compact man. His muscles in his arms weren't like Chances. While Chances were refined and large, Guerrero's were small and compact and rippled when he moved. She was surprised to find a tattoo similar to Mr. Chances on his left shoulder in the same spot. The difference was the color and the extra designs on the dragons body.

"Did you two get those from your old job?" Ilsa found herself asking. Guerrero glanced at her and followed her eyes to his arm and nodded, but didn't say anything. She didn't figure he would. He wasn't much for talking about his private life or self. It was one of the reasons she was so curious about the man. She knew nothing about him, really. It would make her feel like a bad boss. A boss was suppose to know about their colleagues.

Sighing, Ilsa reached up and wiped the sweat trickling from her brow, before grumbling as she brought her legs up to remove her high heels, the pain in her feet almost killing her. She'd been on them all day. Slipping the shoes off she placed them with her top.

They remained silent as Guerrero crossed his arms and closed his eyes. It was possibly late now. They'd been in here for well over two hours now, and it had to be late evening now. She had no watch to really know, but she felt it was past eight or nine. And she was tired herself after a long and hectic day. And being trapped in a closet was the last grate of her nerves before she just wanted to curl up on her bed and sleep. But it seemed she'd need to find somewhere comfortable in the closet for tonight and prayed Winston or Ames would come looking for them.

Lowering herself to the floor as best she could, Ilsa crossed her legs and pressed her back against the door. It wasn't so bad on the floor. It was actually a bit cooler down here. She supposed that had to do with the crack under the door that allowed the cooler air from outside to be wafted in and the other knowledge that heat did rise.

Guerrero still stood above her and a little to her left as she tried to get as comfortable as possible while dealing with her skirt. "It would be easier if you took it off, dude," Guerrero cut in, causing Ilsa to look up, puzzled. It was hard to see his facial expression in the dark, only able to make out the outline of his face and the faint glint to his glasses.

Ilsa furrowed her brows. "Take off what, Mr. Guerrero?" she asked, as she heard him shuffle above her, jumping as she could make out that he was crouched in-front of her. "The skirt, boss. Easier to sleep without it." Ilsa felt her face warm up as she scowled and looked down, thankful for the cover of the darkness to hide her possibly beat-red face. "Mr. Guerrero I will do no such thing!" she exclaimed, not believing he would ask her to do something so indecent.

She could make out him shrugging in the dark, before he fell back against the wall behind him, left leg out, right leg tucked into an upright capital A form, his left arm resting on his kneecap as he went silent. Ilsa figured he was trying to go to sleep as well. Sighing, she pressed her back against the door again and tried to get comfy, shifting her legs around softly, turning her upper body so she was leaning against it with her upper arm. She huffed as she tried to curl her legs to her body like she always did when she went to sleep, but her skirt prevented her from doing so.

She sat with her legs stretched out for a few more minutes, before it became unbearable, and she reached to the side and unzipped her skirt, lifting her bottom up off the ground to help slide it off, blushing the whole time. In the dark, she could almost see a triumphed, wolfish, smile on Guerrero's face as she huffed. "Not a word, Mr. Guerrero."

He said nothing, though she was able to make out a faint chuckle, before she curled up against the wall and closed her eyes, wanting to sleep so she could wake up and sooner remove herself from this bloody closet. As soon as she got out she was going to call her contractor to come and fix this door so it opened both ways!

**-0-**

The next morning Ilsa found she was warm, but not uncomfortable. She had expected to wake up with kinks and sores in her muscles, but instead only found that she was actually really comfortable... But had a strange thumping noise against her ear?

Opening her eyes slowly, Ilsa went to bolt up at the realization that she was no longer in her corner, but was stopped by strong arms around her waist holding her in place. She blinked as a strong, but not annoying, smell of cologne touched her nose. Furrowing her brow, she tilted her head enough to catch part of Guerrero's sleeping features on his face. His glasses were off and his eyes were closed softly as he slept, breathing evenly, his heart being what was thumping in her ear, going at a steady beat.

Ilsa calmed her nerves and yawned. She was still very tired... And actually still very comfortable, even knowing she was laying on Guerrero. Biting her lip, she looked at the door as best she could and tried to listen for some indication that Chance or Winston had come to work yet. When she heard nothing but the sound of Carmine's paws across the hard floor, she lowered her head back against Guerrero's chest, her face redder than her favorite lipstick, before closing her eyes. She could spare just a few more minutes of sleep... She was rather comfortable.. And it would be rude to wake him up.

With that, Ilsa slowly drifted back to sleep, cuddling closer.

**-0-**

Chance chuckled to himself as he ate his breakfast and watched TV, feeding Carmine a piece of his bacon as he walked by, glancing at the closet door at the end of the hallway.

He had found them this morning when he'd woken up and went to go grab a new lightbulb from the storage closet, almost bursting with amusement and laughter at the sight of Guerrero staring at him with a raised brow and Ilsa curled up on his chest. When he'd raised a brow to incline what had happened, Guerrero just grinned and shrugged.

"She's a cuddler, dude," was all he said in a low voice as Ilsa stirred and Chance grabbed the lightbulb he'd need. When he'd asked if he wanted help waking her up, Guerrero shook his head and told him he'd take care of it. So Chance shut the door, making sure the two could open it from the inside after having put duct-tape over the latch.

As he remained comfortable on the couch, he half-way listened for Ilsa to come stomping out of the closet as soon as she was fully up and at em, scratching Carmine's head.

**R & R Plz :]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer :**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I want to at least do five chapters of these, but we'll see where this goes. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

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><p><strong>Underwear in Pocket<strong>

"These are my favorite pair," she began, voice calm and more relaxed than he was expecting, "I've been looking for them for a week now!" OK there was the frustration he'd been slightly expecting from her. He shifted his weight onto one foot, his hands stuffed in his pocket as he looked from her to the topic of discussion.

They were a nice pair. Made of an expensive silk. They were also red, which was a favorite color of his. She had a bra that matched it. He wouldn't mind seeing her in the matching garments. In _just _them and nothing else. He could imagine they suited her beige skin like that strapless dress she wore to Connie's engagement party. That had been a nice dress.

She tapped her foot and raised a brow at him as he shrugged. He didn't need to explain himself. Not to her. Besides, some woman liked when men did this. It was a compliment to her. At least he would think she would feel that way about it. "It's one thing to steal my caviar, but my favorite pair of undies?" she sighed as she sat the garment on the desk.

None of the others were in at the moment, all having their own work to do before coming in. Chance was simply upstairs showering after training with Guerrero this morning. That was when she had found them. He'd had them in his jeans, to which he'd changed out of to wear sweat pants. He really should be getting onto her about invading his personal space and going through his stuff, but the look she was giving him, while very hot, was also saying she would be in the mood for his jokes. And he really wasn't up for listening to her yell at him... Even if she was sexy as hell when she was mad.

"Well?" she suddenly asked, causing him to raise a brow high as she huffed. "Arn't you going to say anything in your defense, Mr. Guerrero?" she held up the garment again and Guerrero stared at them before glancing at her. He really wouldn't mind seeing her with those on. "You should really touch up on your security, Ilsa," he began, a sinful smirk spreading across his face, "you never know who will come in and go through your stuff."

Ilsa let out a very unladylike snarl before throwing the closes thing she could grab at him in frustration, the object being her panties, which he easily caught with a chuckle.

**R & R Plz :]**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I want to at least do five chapters of these, but we'll see where this goes. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

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><p><strong>Under Their Noses<strong>

Ilsa never considered herself to be an exhibitionist. It was indecent and vulgar and.. And.. And well it wasn't to bad once you got use to it.

She had learned to keep quiet without him having to cover her mouth with his hand or using her own scarf or her panties – dear God she was still mad at him for that one – to stifle her loud moans and whimpers as he had his way with her or she rode him.

The first time had been in the back of the survelance van while Chance was on one of the simplest missions he could have; play the date of some billionare's daughter and protect them both from his ex-wife who wanted to kill them both. She wasn't very suttle or planning of the whole thing, so tracking and sniffing her out had been easy enough that Chance and Winston, hell Chance alone, could handle it.

She couldn't fully remember how it had happened, but one minute they were arguing about something after she turned off her earpiece and he his – she believes they were arguing the differences between being an erotic dancer and a stripper, which was what the billionare's daughter had decided to become – when the next thing she knows, they're all over each other.

Hands and mouth kissing and caressing anything and everywhere they could reach and touch before she was tripped and he was on her, a smirk on his face as he whispered very embarrassing things to her – to which she is still mortified at getting wet over – as they wrapped around each other and went at it.

No Ilsa had never really considered herself to being an exhibitionist... But being pressed against the cold door of the bathroom in the office, exposed and with Chance and Ames just right outside, the two of them going at it practically under everyone's noses, she couldn't help but question if she should start to consider herself one or not as she bit down on her mouth, fighting the urge to call out his name.

Dammit Mr. Guerrero!

**R & R Plz :]**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I want to at least do five chapters of these, but we'll see where this goes. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

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><p><strong>Have This Dance<strong>

To say she was surprised when she found out that Connie had invited _him_ to her engagement party would be the understatement of her life-time. Her first thought after her understandable shock, had been that he had to have hacked into Connie's list and put his name in! As for why he would do that, Ilsa had no clue, but she was sure it wasn't good.

So she had personally called up Connie and confronted her on it. She was put back into astonishment and disbeleif when she heard that, yes, Connie had personally invited Guerrero to her party. Along with Chance and Winston as well. Winston had come down with a stomach flu and was unable to come. While Chance had declined without giving her a reason.

She had later found out from Winston that it was the anniversary of Katherine Walters death. She could respect his want to be alone. When Marshall's death date came up, she would ask for time alone and would sit and look through old pictures and watch some of his old home videos, Marshall having been a kid at heart and loved to play around with technology like camera's and electronic cars and boats. She would sit and cry and think of good and bad times.

She understood, so she let him be. But with Chance and Winston gone, Ilsa and Guerrero were left to go together. She let him ride with her in the limo, and silently they had made it to the party where Connie greeted her with the biggest smile Ilsa had ever seen on her face. Next to her was her future husband Malvolio Poverelli, an Italian business man. He was kind and humorous and Ilsa had first hand witnessed how he was able to calm Connie down with a simple squeeze on her shoulder. Ilsa was proud and happy for her.

Connie reached out and hugged her after Malvolio had kissed her hand in greeting, before he shook hands and nodded professionally with Guerrero, who nodded back and pushed his glasses up. "I was wondering where you were, you're late!" Connie chided, but with good humor, as Ilsa smiled as Connie tugged her along, having already chatted up the other guest, leaving her and Ilsa alone as Guerrero and Malvolio were left to converse together; oh dear...

Ilsa was pulled from her worries, as Connie chatted away, telling her of plans she had for the wedding. Ilsa nodded and smiled when appropriate but found herself looking back and becoming distracted by Guerrero's presence at the party. He was no longer talking with Malvolio. He had found the food and was currently eating away like he always did with free food.

"Ilsa, really, he isn't going to do anything you know?" Ilsa jumped as Connie's voice pulled her from her worries. She turned to Connie who was smiling at her with amusement. "You never explained why you invited Mr. Guerrero, Connie," Ilsa mumbled in embarrassment as she grabbed a glass of wine from a waiter who had passed by, taking a decent gulp of it.

Connie chuckled. "I'll admit my first meeting with the man wasn't under the best circumstances, and he was rather offsetting with his flirting... But he does have a certain charm to him. Almost dangerous, I could say. But I saw how him and Mr. Chance handled themselves, and I felt it only right to invite them. They did help save my life as well."

After that Connie had left her alone with still no answers as to really knowing why Guerrero had been invited? Sighing, Ilsa walked over to put her empty glass down, when a slow song started playing. Many couples suddenly rushed to the dance-floor and began to laugh and sway with each other. Ilsa smiled softly as she spotted Connie with Malvolio as they danced and smiled at each other without a care in the world.

She was reminded of her and Marshall. Connie did often remind her of Marshall, and most of the time she could handle it... But right now she suddenly was feeling rather sad and missing Marshall dearly. She loved to dance with him. On their wedding night they had danced the whole time, her feet killing her the next day while they were in Rome for their honeymoon.

"Whats with the look, boss?" Again Ilsa was startled from her thoughts for the second time tonight by a voice, this time it belonging to Guerrero, who had his hands stuffed in his dress pants and a brow raised as he walked up beside her, finishing off a finger sandwich. Ilsa smiled a lopsided smile. "I was just thinking Mr. Guerrero... Are you having a good time?" she asked, wanting to step away from the subject of her train of thought.

Guerrero gave his usual casual shrug he liked to give when asked a question. "Foods decent," he said and Ilsa had to chuckle at that. Very Guerrero like, she had to say. She looked back out at Connie and Malvolio as a new song began, the two still clinging to each other lovingly and her heart still calling for Marshall.

As her thoughts wondered to her first date with Marshall and her first dance with him, she was startled as she felt a warm and rough, but somewhat gentle, hand grab hers before she was dragged forward to the dancefloor. She barely had time to protest before she was pushed on, her feet moving as hands found her waist and she was pulled against a hard chest.

Ilsa blinked in surprise and looked at Guerrero who showed nothing on his face as he guided her, their bodies moving to the music with graceful flow. "I didn't know you could dance," Ilsa whispered, actually very impressed. He moved with well practice grace. Guerrero just smirked as he suddenly twirled her, almost catching her off her feet, before twirling her back to him.

"Try growing up without my mother. She taught me to dance as soon as I could walk, dude. Not something I like to show off, though. Doesn't help with the reputation," he explained, and Ilsa had to laugh. Yes she suppose knowledge that the king of torture could dance like he was might lower ones street cred. "Well personally, Mr. Guerrero, I find that men of your status should know how to dance or sing or both. Call it a Phantom of the Opera cliché class." she chuckled as Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Dude, seriously? You go for that dangerous appeal to, boss?"

Ilsa gave him a real smile. "Of course, Mr. Guerrero. Every woman gets a thrill at the prospect of dancing with the devil, so to speak," she answered, as the music came to it's last chorus. Ilsa's hands fully relaxed on his shoulder and she pressed against him with more calm and confidenence than before. "I of course can actually say I have danced with the devil," she laughed as Guerrero again rolled his eyes but gave a wolfish grin as well as the music changed and they continued to dance.

**R & R Plz :]**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I want to at least do five chapters of these, but we'll see where this goes. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

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><p><strong>Bubbles<strong>

Nobody knew he was a fan of bubble baths. He actually loved them. It was chickish, he knew, but he didn't care. Long as no-one else knew. If they found out, well he was sure he could shoot them faster than their mouth could move if it came up.

He didn't move or say anything as he watched the water and suds slosh around out of the tub and splatter on his foot, nor flinch when she let out a rather load and startled gasp, covering herself as she lowered into the water, the bubbles providing a good amount of cover as she gaped at him like a fish out of water.

"M-Mr. Guerrero! What are you doing in my bathroom in my apartment?" she demanded. She'd been about to leave the tub, her back to him as the water cascaded down her smooth and wet beige skin, making her glow, before she had quickly ducked down into the water upon finding him standing in the doorway.

"Weren't answering your cellphone, boss. Was in the neighborhood and came to check on ya," he lied casually, as he leaned against the doorway, grinning. Ilsa's face was red as she clutched her body tighter. Their weren't as many bubbles left from all the sloshing she had caused, and more and more of her was beginning to be exposed to him. He could see more cleavage of her breast.

She tried to duck down more as she scowled at him, her face becoming redder as she tried to remain covered while her eyes darted to her towel, which she had left on the sink next to him. "Yes well, you can see that I'm quit alright! Now do please leave!" she snapped as she shifted in the water, which had to be luke warm by now. The fog on the mirror was starting to fade,m indicating the heat was giving away to the regular room temp.

Soon the water would start to get cold. And she would start to get prune like if she didn't get out soon. He smirked as he grabbed the towel and held it out to her, not moving from his spot as she glared daggers at him. "Mr. Guerrero!" she tried to sound threatening, but her voice was shaking a little from being flustered. He raised a brow. "You should get out of the tub, boss. I'm sure that water isn't as warm as it was before," he casually stated, his eyes never leaving hers as she

"Please, Mr. Guerrero... Please may I have my towel and please would you leave?" Ilsa tried again, as he grinned like a cheeky child, shaking the towel a little to motion her to come and get it, not moving from his spot. Ilsa sighed and clutched at her chest as she, almost redder than blood, rose from the water, some remaining bubbles clinging to her body.

Oh, yes. Guerrero was a big fan of bubble baths.

**R & R Plz :]**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

* * *

><p><strong>Trunks and Trust<strong>

Exceptionally roomie indeed. She could move around and almost stretch out her legs fully at a certain angle. She could probably do more if her wrist and ankles weren't tied together and she wasn't being bounced around rather unceremoniously against the clean (surprisingly enough) closed space of the trunk she was currently occupying.

Every turn and every bump that the driver hit, she felt, and it smarted dearly. She had a small feeling that they were purposefully doing this to agitate her more than she already was. Really this was totally uncalled for!

But they had asked for her to follow their demands, their rules, if she wanted this to work out. She'd been wary, as one would be when dealing with this particular employee of hers. But she had consented. If she wanted to be on that very small list of people they could trust, then a few sacrifices to her dignity wouldn't do any harm in the end.

.. Except for maybe leave her bruised, she inwardly groaned as her back bounced painfully against the side, wincing as he felt her hands ache, still being stuck behind her back and roughly squished. She really really hoped this would be worth it in the end.

Her thoughts were cut as she felt her body roll back onto her side as they came to a stop, a complete stop for once, before she heard a door opening leisurely and closing with the same pace, boots clicking almost loudly, before she was assaulted with a brighter light than her surroundings, causing her to blink her eyes in adjustment.

"I understand your need to keep this place a secret," she began as he reached in and helped her out before removing the rope from her wrist and ankles, "but was it really necessary to tie me up?" As soon as the rope was free, she rubbed at the irritated skin as he shrugged. "Habit, dude," he answered simply before walking around her to get into his car.

It was now that she could take in her surroundings. She was in a garage. Smell of oil and gas tickled her nose as she looked around, taking in the high powered tools locked up on a wall... Next to a Black & Decker Junior Play Workbench? Ilsa blinked as she looked around more and found a motorcycle with a tricycle parked next to it. In the parking-spot next to his vehicle was a toy truck that someone small could ride in.

"Come on," he ordered, grabbing her upper arm and guiding her in-front of him up a small set up stairs through a white-washed door. She was instantly assaulted with the smell of pasta and cookies. She blinked as she was suddenly in a kitchen where she found a woman with dark, almost black hair washing dishes.

She had a small radio playing as she hummed along to _California Dreamin'_. Beside her, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him roll his eyes, but with a slight affection, as he reached for the fridge door. "Don't even think about it. I have lasagna in the oven, green beans and corn cooking and you are not ruining it with left-over sesame chicken," the woman spoke up, turning off the water and flicking her wrist before grabbing a towel and turning to face them, chocolate brown eyes glaring at him as he let go of the fridge door.

"You," she pointed to him with a now try left finger, "are late. And you actually have a guest? You never bring guest, Guerrero," she crossed her arms and turned on look her up and down. She smiled politely, though a bit uncomfortable, before the woman held out her hand, her features now a picture of pure friendliness as she stepped forward. "Elsie Blake," she stated simply. "Pleasure to meet you miss..?"

She held out her hand automatically and shook it. "Ilsa. Ilsa Pucci." Elsie's eyes widened as she looked from Guerrero to Ilsa. "You brought your boss?" she sounded as surprised as Ilsa felt to actually be standing in Guerrero's house! Beside her, Guerrero shrugged as he walked through the kitchen to the back. Elsie watched him leave with a raised brow,but a smile was now wide across her face. "Oh," she stated, a sly grin on her face. "Oh I see... Cute." she chuckled and Ilsa felt confused. What was cute?

"Honestly. He's such a pain. He can't do anything the simple way," Elsie chided as she walked over to the stove and stirred the corn. "I'm surprised. He's known Chance for years and he never brought him here until about two years ago." Now that was shocking. Guerrero had only known her for three years. Certainly less than him and Chance had known each other. Yet he had purposefully brought her to his home with his... Wife? Girlfriend?

Truthfully she was hoping it was neither... "Are you Mr. Guerrero's wife?" Ilsa asked, trying to make conversation as Elsie waved her to the table, offering her a seat. "Ex-wife, actually. We were married for six months before he decided it wasn't safe for us to be together in marriage... Plus I loved him but I wasn't in love with him, you see?" Ilsa smiled. She understood. There was a difference between loving something and being in love with it.

Elsie turned down the stove and checked up on the lasagna before turning the oven down and making to sit across from Ilsa who declined a drink after she offered. "So? Did he lock you in the trunk?" Ilsa nodded and Elsie laughed. "Of course he did. He tried that with Chance. I swear it took forever to get that dent out from the kick he made to the side."

Ilsa let herself relax over time as her and Elsie chatted while Guerrero did whatever he was doing. Elsie seemed happy to actually have a guest over, leaving Ilsa to wonder if the woman was even allowed to have anyone over; like her family or neighbors if she had any, or even friends. B ut Ilsa refrained from asking her (along with multiple other questions she was dieing to ask), out of respect for Guerrero and his choice to bring her here.

As Elsie shared with her a technique to getting stains out of expensive satin, a load cry and laugh was heard before a blur of red ran past the kitchen doorway. Elsie sighed loudly. "Jason G. Blake! Come here!" At first nothing happened and Ilsa wondered if she had just imagined all that. Then the breath was knocked from her as a small boy walked around the corner to stand in the doorway, a boyish smile on his face.

He was.. Almost a spitting image of Guerrero! The eyes, hair color, and the smile were Elsie's, but everything else was Guerrero. The same whispy style of hair, the same mischief, but not as deadly, glint in his eyes. He was of average size and looked to be about six or seven. He was wearing a red Spiderman shirt and jeans, no shoes on as he padded across the floor to his mother, who was giving him a look.

"What did I say about running in the house, Jason?" Else asked, as he shifted on his feet. "Not to," he said, his voice casual and calm under his mothers obviously angry expression and tone. This boy was Guerrero's son. "Then why did you?" Else asked, arms crossing as Jason played with the bottom of his shirt. Dad found me so I gotta hide again," he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Ilsa couldn't help but chuckle as Elsie sighed. Jason's eyes were drawn to Ilsa, finally noticing she was there.

He furrowed his brows, again a very Guerrero like look, in concentration as he tilted his head just slightly. "Who are you?" he practically demanded, puffing up as if he was ready to defend his mom and house if he needed to. Ilsa smiled and slid out of her seat to crouch down, glad that she had actually listened to Guerrero and worn jeans today. She had remembered watching Marshall with kids and he had once told her that kids liked when you didn't hover over them. Made them feel your equal.

"My name is Ilsa. You must be Jason, yes?" she asked, as he nodded, smiling a little. "I'm a... Well I work with your daddy. I'm his... Partner." The term friend and boss didn't seem to fit what her and Guerrero were. What were they? Was she his friend now because she had shown her his house? She'd have to talk to him about this if she could remember to.

Jason's brown eyes lit up as he gasped. "Are you a detective like dad, too?" Detective? Ilsa gave a puzzled look and glanced over at Elsie, who had her back to them and was removing the lasagna, before she looked behind Jason as Guerrero leaned against the doorway, watching her with Jason. He didnt show any facial features as she gave him a questioning look, before looking at Jason who had his head tilted questionably.

Of course he wouldn't tell his son what he did. He was to young to know what his father did. Maybe he would never know. Was she the one to tell him that his father was one of the most feared men in the underworld? "Yes. I'm a detective like your daddy," Ilsa answered and Jason laughed and let out a yelp "Cool!"

After that, they all sat down and ate, Jason telling Ilsa all about his school and friends and even introducing her to the giant fish-tank they kept in the living-room, letting her feed the multiple fishes swimming around, chuckling as they swam up to peck at the feed while Jason told her all of their names.

When evening began to roll around, Ilsa had to say goodbye. Jason was a little put out that his new friend was leaving, but Ilsa promised to send him a gift from her with her daddy next time, before he was satisfied and would go off to take his bath. Elsie hugged and thanked her for joining them, before telling Guerrero that she'd like him to look at the disposer next time he was home. Ilsa was reminded of two very close friends teasing and joking with each other as she hugged him goodbye before Ilsa was lead to the garage again.

She said nothing as she headed to the back and opened the trunk, about to slide in when a hand stopped her. She looked at Guerrero who was giving her a raised brow. He rolled his eyes and dragged her out before shutting the door and putting her in the front seat with him, throwing her a blindfold and telling her to duck down. She complied without a single complaint.

**R & R**

**Mostly a work of trust between the two characters. Thought the idea was cute.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:** These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

* * *

><p><strong>Big Bad<strong>

_'Keep running, Ilsa! You have to keep running! You have to find Chance or Guerrero or Ames or Winston! You have to keep bloody moving!'_ She chanted this over and over to herself. She had to. It was the only thing keeping her from passing out and letting her pursuers win!

Her feet, bare after having discarded her high heels miles back, were scratched and sore from rocks and twigs. Her red dress was ripped and her arm was bleeding from catching on thorns and sharp rocks. Mud covered her ankles and knees from falling, as she panted and clawed for every next step she forced herself to take.

This mission was not going at all planned. All she had needed to do was play a buyer at an illegal operation that kidnapped young woman and sold them off to filthy men with a lot of money and hands in a lot of underground activity; like this.

Their client had hired them to get his fiancee back after she'd been taken. He only had one clue to work off on where she was, having been apart of the underground world when he was young and restless and looking for good and easy pay. He'd left after he had gotten his best friend killed and had tried for a new life with his fiancee. But it was now back to bite him and he had helped her sneak in.

It was only right that she go. She was well classed in auctioning and handling business affairs. Chance or Guerrero could have played well enough, but they gave off suspicious vibes and stuck out. No it had to be her. And she had put her foot down against any protest Chance or Winston had thrown at her. When all the arguing was done, Guerrero had simply thrown her an outfit and communication earpiece and told her to get ready. Neither showing support or disagreeing with the decision.

Now she was wishing he had! The job had gone well. She had been able to help the boys locate where their clients fiancee was and they had gotten her out, along with the other females. But they hadn't counted on wavelength scanners. It had pinpointed her communication piece and she'd been cornered. She'd barely been able to get out the door, having busted one of the men with her purse to get through the door. She was happy she took Ames's advice to start carrying a brick with her.

But now she was being chased through the backwoods of the mansion she had escaped. Three men weren't too far behind. They were fast and each step she took, they took two more! But she wasn't going to stop! She couldn't! But without her earpiece, which she had lost in the struggle, Ilsa had no clue where she was going and had no one to help her!

"There she is boys!" Ilsa's blood ran cold, as she could hear the leader of her search party gaining in fast! She pushed her legs, grimacing at the stretching pain in her muscles as they cramped up and stretched back out. It hurt so much! She wanted to stop and rest. Or hide or something! But there was no place she had seen that she could hide. These woods were to flat and spread out. The creek banks weren't steep enough to try and duck behind or under and the trees weren't wide enough to stay behind. And even if she could, her blood red dress made her stick out like a sore thumb in all this greenery.

Her heart was beating through her chest and throat as she made to jump over a large rock and a pile of little ones in her way, only to cry out as she was roughly grabbed by her hair and pulled to the ground! The men had caught up to her and they were now leering down at her. "Got her boys!" The leader crowed in delight as he yanked roughly on her hair.

"U-Unhand me this instant!" Ilsa exclaimed through a hiss as the men laughed and shook her around, her scalp protesting at the rough handling the men were applying to her head. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of BO, alcohol, and plain bad breath hit her nose, as the leader had the other two men hold her down as he leaned in and grinned at her like a cat that had caught its pray. "Aint no way we're letting you go, little red," he cackled as he looked her over. "After all this trouble you caused us with chasing you all over these woods, I think you owe us an apology..." he trailed off as his hand rested on her left knee and he slid his hand up, making the tattered ends of the dress ride up slowly.

Ilsa's mouth dried and her eyes widened, her heart thumping in her ears, as she let out a loud, ear piercing scream of protest struggling against the other two other men holding her and their leader as he used his body to hold her down. "Awww, now don't be that way," The man laughed. "I promise I'll make it nice an-Aaaaaahhhh!"

Ilsa gasped as the man roughly pushed himself off her and his buddies unceramoniously dropped her on the ground. She sat up quickly and blinked past her hair to gasp as she heard an animal growl and saw a blur of brown fur and white teeth? "Get it off me! Get it fucking off me!" The leader cried out, as the beast attacked his arm and legs, drawing blood. His men drew their guns, but Ilsa thought quick and grabbed one of the large stones she'd been about to jump over, and staggered to her feet to bust them upside the back of their heads. The men grunted and groaned before the hit the ground roughly.

Ilsa, holding the stone up, turned in time to witness the creature lunge at the man's throat. She closed her eyes and dropped the large stone, looking away as a gurgled scream of horror and pain was heard along with her whimper of fear and disgust. Bone crunching and breaking made her shiver as she could no longer hear the man's voice. She backed up crab style until her back hit the rocks, keeping her eyes closed tightly.

Eventually, after praying for it all to stop, she could no longer hear the sound of bones breaking and skin tearing. Everything was silent, save for a small huff and soft shuffling of feet. Ilsa shuddered and opened her eyes slowly. She jumped and covered her mouth as she was met with a gruesome image of the man's throat ripped to shreds and the largest wolf she had ever seen standing infront of her!

He had to be about waist length or higher with her with brown fur and unnerving steel blue eyes. He was wiping at his face with his paw, removing the blood from his maw, before he looked up at and calmly watched her. Ilsa's heart thumped in fear as the wolf stared at her. Why? Why was it just staring at her?

She flinched as the wolf let out a grunt before stepping closer to her. She pushed back against the rock as its face got close and continued to stare at her... Stare at her like it had it's brow raised in question? Huh? Ilsa felt her fear seeping away slowly as she turned completely to face the wolf, who, now that she looked at them, had eyes that reminded her of someone... Reminded her of... Of-

"Ilsa! Ilsa, dammit! Answer me!"

Chance? Mr Chance! Ilsa's eyes widened as the wolf looked over its shoulder as Chance suddenly came running out from behind a small bush, halting as he spotted the body and the wolf. He held his hands up and smiled as the wolf huffed and kind of shook its head in a very human like manner, before Chance nodded to it and the wolf began to take a few steps away from them, before taking off in a run the same way Chance had just come.

Confused, Ilsa looked from the retreating wolf to Chance before she let out a sob of relief as Chance stepped closer and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he picked her up bridal style and held her close. She shook and actually sobbed as Chance began to carry her out of the woods.

Somewhere along the way, she was able to fall asleep from exhaustion.

**-0-**

"Boss asleep?"

Chance looked up and smiled as he pushed himself up from his bed and looked down at Ilsa's curled up form before tucking the covers around her and turning off his bedside lamp and walking over to Guerrero who was leaning in the doorway, scratching at the bandages on his right arm.

Chance shut the door and gave him a look as he growled and pulled at the bandages. "Guerrero knock it off, man. It wont heal if you keep messing with it," Chance chided and Guerrero gave him a "back off" look, but grumbled and removed his hand from the bandages and scratched at his scalp as they both made down the stairs.

"You can use Carmine's flea shampoo, if you want," he laughed as Guerrero grumbled and shot him a look, to which Chance just grinned and shrugged boyishly. The two made their way to the kitchen as Winston finished looking over Ames, who'd been nicked with a bullet. But even for a nick, she was looking like she was in a lot of pain.

"I thought they stopped using silver bullets!" she exclaimed angrily as she looked down at the nasty mark on her left side below her ribcage. It was a nasty green and dark blue, mixed with reddish coagulated blood. What was interesting, at least to someone if they'd never seen a mark on someone like Ames, was that her side also looked like it had been burned more than shot. Like the bullet had burned her skin as it nicked her, making the wound bigger than it should be.

Guerrero rolled his eyes and went to scratching at his scalp and shoulder as he opened the fridge to pull out a box of leftover Chinese take-out, and began to dig into the box, dumping the contents into his mouth without any utensils. "Hungry?" Ames asked with amusement as Winston placed the last bandage on her side, grumbling as he got back on his feet and wiped up the blood that had dripped from Ames's hit.

Guerrero grunted as he swallowed half the box before handing the rest to Carmine, who was whining for some. "Begging is degrading, dude," he told the dog, who snorted and walked off with the box. Winston threw the blood soaked papertowels away as Ames thanked him. "You're welcome.. Are you sure no one saw you while you were..." he didn't finish his sentence. He never did. They all knew it made him uncomfortable to know what Ames _was_ and _could do_.

Ames waved her hand dismissively and grinned. "Of course. Anyone that would have seen is now a little too drained to be talking to anyone," she turned to Guerrero and bit down on her lower lip with two sharp teeth as Guerrero sat down and continued to scratch at his shoulder as he went to pounding at the buttons on his phone. "Anyone see you?" she asked him.

Guerrero glanced up but didn't answer, before he continued texting. Ames huffed and placed her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. "So when are we going to tell her? I actually feel bad keeping all this a secret." She glanced at Chance and Winston, who glanced at Guerrero as he slipped his phone into his pocket and gave her a level look, saying nothing.

"OK so I understand why _you_ can't tell her," she sighed, waving to Guerrero, "but couldn't the rest of us say it?" Guerrero shook his head as she finished. "She has to figure out on her own, dude. As much as I normally don't care for certain rules, even we can't break this one. Less you want to die?" he raised a brow at her and Ames threw up her hands in defeat.

It wasn't that none of them hadn't thought of telling her. He'd thought of it plenty of times. But by the law of their, his and Ames's, kind, if he told her without her finding out before hand, he could die. It was a law made by his ancestors long ago to never tell unless the one they wanted to tell figured it out alone... Even if the one you wanted to tell was yours.

By his kinds standards, Ilsa was what one would call a "clueless marked child of Eve". She was his. From the moment they met, she was always his. Her scent and her voice and her alone set him off. He was lucky he had a lot of control or he would have tried to mate her then and there after finally finding the right one. He'd been wrong the last time. And though he cared for his ex-wife and his son, Ilsa was in a different league.

"I'm still surprised you just ripped his throat out," Ames commented, pulling him slightly from his thoughts. "I would have tore every limb from him if it was my mate." Oh it wasn't like he hadn't wanted to. When he had smelled her fear, had seen the bastard all over her, covering her in his scent and trying to claim her, he'd wanted nothing more than to rip him to nothing. But her fear of him had stopped him from going too far. He wouldn't loose control infront of her. No way, dude. You didn't scare your own mate.

"Suck heads don't have as much control as us, dude. Unlike you, I don't tear apart everything that makes me mad," he mused, causing Ames to scowl and hiss at him, sharp fangs showing. Guerrero barred his canine's back at her with a grin as Chance chuckled and sipped the glass of water he'd made himself.

"Mutt."

"Day walking Blood bank."

"Enough you two," Chance laughed. He normally would have let them fight it out, but with Ilsa just upstairs, he didn't wanna chance her waking up and coming downstairs and seeing it. Not all of them were ready to share the groups big secret yet. "Ames don't you have a meeting with Drake tonight?" Chance asked as the two went to yell at each other again.

Ames furrowed her brow and glanced at the clock before cursing and jumping from her seat. She grabbed her purse and ran towards the open window and jumped, disappearing down into the back alley. Chance heard an alarm go off and winced. She'd landed on another car. "For someone two hundred and twenty five years old, she sure isn't to good at llanding yet," Winston grumbled, hoping that wasn't his car; again. He rubbed at his face and grabbed his laptop bag.

"Heading out?" Chance asked, standing up as Winston began to make for the elevator. "Yeah. I'm old and tired and those two wear me out every-time they do this," he growled as Guerrero shrugged, mouth twitching in amusement as Chance pat the larger man on the back and began to walk with him to the elevator, offering to walk him down.

As soon as they were gone, Guerrero pushed himself from his chair and tilted his head up to let the air tickle his nose, before walking up the stairs. By the last step, the clicking of his boots couldn't be heard, and the sound of four paws on hardwood floor took its place. They clicked lightly as they approached Chance's bedroom and nudged it open before padding in and jumping gracefully on the bed without disturbing Ilsa, who simple murmured and snuggled deeper into the sheets.

Guerrero looked down at her and crawled over her to lay against her back, his nose burried in her hair and his body pressed against her slightly shiver back, before he yawned and curled up beside her, resting but still alert as he listened to her heartbeat and for any signs she would wake up. It wasn't her time to know yet. Soon.. But not now.

**R & R**

**What can I say besides... PUPPEH GUERRERO~ XD**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

* * *

><p><strong>Dresses<strong>

He stretched out on his bed in one of the many warehouses he had around San Francisco. He'd kicked off his boots and and shouldered out of his button up top and was now laying in just his jeans, his glasses still on his face as he stared up at the ceiling, brows knitted in thought.

Dude he couldn't understand chicks sometimes. I mean he prided himself at being able to read a person like they were an open book, while making sure his remained closed. But there was something to be said about reading. Everyone could read a text differently. It was like that saying that you could take a Bible, sit a representative of every religion in a room in a circle and have them read it, and each one would interpret it differently. People were like that. He could be reading them wrong because of how they were letting him read them.

Women were the best at this. They could look happy and content, but really they were actually pissed and ready to snap at the first person to say or do something wrong. Ilsa'd been like that today. She'd come in with that usual walk that added a slight swish to her hips, had the same even clip clopping of her high heels – the black ones he'd seen her buying at some ritzy store in Paris – and wearing a rather interesting black dress.

It was work appropriate, but it had a slightly lower cut to it than normal and hung just a little off the shoulders. Instead of at her knees, it was hiked up a few inches and a little more cleavage – not indecent amount but almost there – was now showing, and she had silver and diamond earrings on. Topped off with a sterling silver necklace, he had to say it was a nice dress.

But he didn't say that did he? No he had said nice dress today, but he'd said it to new girl – Layla – when he'd turned and saw her walking in beside Ames, who looked pleased with herself. Her dress was a dark maroon and and simple, but hugging. She had on tights and matching maroon high heels. What was really startling was that her thick framed glasses were gone, replaced with contacts and her hair was pushed back and down, framing her face.

"Nice dress," she told her as she walked in with her computer and sat it down on the kitchen table. She smiled in thanks, sputtering something about a date, before he'd tuned her out when he felt something was off. He glanced around and his eyes instantly locked on Ilsa. She was chatting with new girl – Layla – and Ames about something or another... And he felt the deepest chill run up his spine when they locked eyes briefly.

What the hell was that for? Her eyes looked at him like he'd backhanded her and stuffed her in his trunk. Thinking back on it made him growl. He hated to not understand something. He'd thought about it the rest of the day as she ignored him and gave him clipped request. She was normal and calm with everyone else; hell she'd gone all school girlish when Chance had followed her like a puppy and complimented her on her dress-

_"Nice dress."_

Dude... No way! He furrowed his brows and scoffed. It couldn't be something as simple as that... Could it? He sat up and leaned against one of his upturned legs, the other hanging off the bed, thinking back on everything his brain could recall. Her expression, how she walked, the look she'd given him before she was glaring at him with an icy stare... Duuuddee!

_'Didn't complement her, dude.'_ Was that it? Was she acting like that cause he hadn't said he liked her dress? Oh he'd liked that dress. Hell he'd practically undressed her as she walked in. Wasn't that enough? _'She wanted more than that, man,' _that annoying voice persisted as he pinched the bridge of his nose and growled in annoyance, before rolling his eyes and falling back to the bed, stripping off his jeans and slamming his glasses on the bedside stand.

Women... Damn.

**LOL! Yes it's very weird and random, but I thought about this and it just made me laugh. Hey Guerrero! Body language and expressions are important at reading women, man. I should know. I am one :P**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **This prompt was helped by the song "Mad" by Neyo and "When You're Mad" by the same artist. Ones a really deep love song. The others a song about angry sex... Yay! XD

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><p><strong>Mad<strong>

How did this happen again? She really couldn't tell... I mean she could explain what had happened, but as to why... Well she couldn't really say. It had all happened so fast. One minute they weren't, the next they were.

This had all been irresponsible, stupid, and if she was being truthful and actually sane, she'd hav to say very dangerous. Not the act itself... But _who_she was doing the act with! Guerrero? How could it come down to Guerrero, of all people? If she was going to sleep with one of her employees, why not Chance? For God sakes Winston would have been better than this, if he weren't currently dating Charlie Francis.

But no. She'd gone and spent the night – a very, if she was honest, feverish and amazing night – with her most dangerous co-worker. And why? Well all because she had gotten mad. Marshall had once told her that her mad streaks would get her in trouble... She hated that he was right. They had. More than once. But this.. This was a whole new league of trouble.

_"Mr. Guerrero I insist you return my purse!"_

_"They say you can tell a lot about a woman and the contents of her purse, boss. Lets see what yours says."_

Drinking. That's right, they'd all been drinking. Ilsa had hit him with her purse for making some unneeded comment – as to what it was she could no longer remember – and she had reacted by smacking him with the purse. OK, she had _tried _to get him. He'd caught it before it made contact and had easily yanked it from her hands and childishly played keep away with it!

She wasn't drunk, but she'd been tipsy enough to be coaxed into chasing after him as he opened her purse and was actually going to check her content! He had no right to go messing with her belongings! Now tipsy, Ilsa was hardly able to walk properly, let alone run. So what had happened? Oh how. She'd, as clicheas it was, tripped and landed against him. But they'd twisted and then he was on-top of her. And the impact had hurt.

_"Ow..." Ilsa gasped as she blinked the blackness from her vision and reached up with her left arm to grasp at the back of her head, which was throbbing. "Bloody hell..." she murmured, trailing off as she tried to move her right arm, only to find it pinned._

_Opening her eyes fully, Ilsa's already tinted face lit up. "M-Mr. Guerrero?" she croaked in surprise, __scowling at how her voice caught, as she stared down at Guerrero, who was sprawled onto of her, his face buried between her breast. "Could you please... Could you get off me... " she asked, trying to move, only for him to press his weight down into her. She grunted and glared down at him._

_"I don't know boss. I'm kinda comfortable," he drawled, nuzzling his nose and face closer to her chest, his hands sliding up to grip her waist. She gasped when she bucked, feeling something hard and protruding brush against her inner thighs. Her eyes locked with him, her face red with anger and embarrassment, his calm and eyes hardened._

_She wanted to reach up and slap him... But found herself, with the help of the alcohol in her system, fascinated by a small, almost unnoticeable, scar under his right eye in an upside down crescent moon shape. She squinted and reached her hand up to run her thumb across the scar, gasping as his lips touched the pulse of her wrist._

_A tingle of electricity shot through her system from her wrist as she moved her hand away and reached up to cup his face and pull him down to her waiting and curious mouth-_

Ilsa gasped, coming out of her recap of last night as a weigh suddenly pressed into her back, pushing her down into the mattress. She'd been laying on her stomach and thinking, having not heard him shift and roll over. She shuddered as the scratch of his beard across her back before lips and teeth found her shoulder. His fingers were gripping at her waist, and Ilsa could feel the liquid heat pulling and swirling in her stomach as she recalled just what those fingers had done to her.

"You need to breathe, boss," he mumbled in her ear, causing her to let out a deep puff of air she hadn't realized she'd been holding, as his tongue and lips and teeth worked at the skin of her shoulder blade, his left hand sliding down and around her waist, the rough pads of his thumb brushing against her still sensitive folds.

Her breath caught again, though only for a second, as she unconsciously leaned into his touch, his weight pressing her down into the bed and his hand. She should be stopping this. It had gone to far. She had slept with a co-worker – and not the one she had always seen it happening with either. Chance... Oh God would he hate her for this? Would she be able to look at him, knowing that she'd slept with his best friend?

She could still stop this! She could stop this and chalk it all up as a bad mistake.. If he wouldn't touch her like that! Ilsa mewed and bit down on the pillow of the shady motel room they'd ended up at. She couldn't fully recall how she'd gotten here. One minute they'd kissed... The next she was undressed and being pushed down into the bed of a motel not far away from the office where this had all started, away from Chance who hadn't suspected anything, at least she hoped not, when Guerrero and her had pushed away from each other and both announced they were going home.

Once outside, she was dragged to his car without a word and she'd let him drive her away to some shady and very gloomy looking motel, grabbing a room before they were both at each other. Now it seemed they were up for round.. Round.. Dear God how many times had they-

She jumped as two fingers slid past her folds and curved inside her, causing her to wiggle and pant softly, her mouth now almost swallowing the pillow to keep from encouraging him with anymore moans or whimpers of pleasure. Her body didn't want her to stop... And truthfully a part of her didn't either. Bloody hell he had some talented finegrs- Mmm!

Ilsa let go of the pillow and gave a throaty moan as she pushed back against his body, feeling something hard press against her back as she turned her head back and allowed their lips to brush and search for each other in the faded darkness of the room.

What was one more time to several others anyway?

**R & R**

**Also, quick note, the last installment will be a long one. Already gots it in the works ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **Based on me watching "Hannibal" and randomly thinking of how Ilsa would feel at having to watch something like it with Chance and Guerrero. Nuff said :P**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Movie Night<strong>

Oh she hated films like this! Why had she let Guerrero pick the movie? She should have knew better. Should have known he'd pick a rather disturbing pieces to watch and this one was exactly that; rather disturbing! It was psychologically disturbing and some of the imagery made her cringe – He was eating another mans brain for bloody sakes!

Ilsa covered her mouth to keep from vomiting. How could they be eating popcorn through this? She glanced to her left where Chance was lazily sprawled out, feet propped on the table – much to her distatse – and a bowl of popcorn on his lap, which he carefully passed above her to Guerrero who sat on her right, lazed back , legs stretched, and ankles crossed under the table, boots kicked off.

It amused her how at ease these men could become with each other. There was trust evident in their activities like this – more so when they had each others lives on the line – that Ilsa found fascinating and almost heart warming. Guerrero would kill for Chance without a second thought. And Chance, though it would come back and naw at him later, would do so for Guerrero. Ilsa was almost jealous of their brotherhood. But they had been through a lot – through years and years of drama – to get them the way they were now.

"Still say he could have just cut the link, man," Chance commented, eyes on the screen as the heroine – as Clarice Starling – stood outside the house and stared out at the water, tears in her bright blue eyes. To her right Guerrero scoffed. "Dude, no way. The feds were about six minutes away. Would've taken at least ten to cut through that. Real cuffs, dude." Ilsa wanted to laugh at how casual they were arguing over this logic. They didn't care about the dark romantic undertone or the slight gore – they cared about the escape and accuracy of Hannibal Lecter – a fictional villain in a fictional movie.

"He has more strength than a normal man his age does," Chance argued back as the movie came to an end and he was messing with the remote to put it back on simple satellite – choosing some sports channel – and grabbed the popcorn back from the shorter male. Guerrero didn't reply as he watched the game. Ilsa had a feeling he could argue this out until the sun came up, but he seemed content to just laze back and watch the football game on the television.

She rolled her eyes at the two as she slid her legs up and curled them under her on the couch. She was tired of sitting all leaned back, changing her position to warm her slightly cold feet and get comfortable again. She sat and tried to watch the game with them – though she understood nothing of what was going on – as she began to relax, her body beginning to loosen as she yawned.

It had been a long day today. Two missions involving kidnapping had been dealt with without much of a hitch – save for Guerrero getting slammed through the third story window of an office building with Chance and a man he was fighting, landing in a trashcan, making both men smell fairly ripe – was a nice change, especially after both men got a shower in. While they'd been switching off, Winston had taken Ames to the hospital before heading home, after the young brunette had been knocked unconscious for a few minutes by an office chair and needed to be checked for a possible concussion.

Guerrero had been rather annoyed by that, seeing as Ames was suppose to be his and Chances lookout. Her spacy act had gotten them knocked out into the trashcan and the reason him and Chance were both left in boxers, sweatpants, and socks. Their clothes were being washed by Ilsa – to which she insisted on doing herself. When she had thrown their clothes in the washer, it hadn't fully clicked that she had made both men practically naked until she was sitting on the couch with them. When it did click, she was slightly uncomfortable.

When she'd been able to calm her nerves down – to which she felt childish about having in the first place since she was a grown woman! It wasn't like she hadn't seen a man shirtless before – She'd been able to take in the differences between the two with slight fascination. Both sported similar tattoos on their right deltoids, both had multiple scars on their body, and both were very in shape. Yet they weren't built the same. These men had been through a lot of the same trouble together... But they both held different forms.

Chance was muscular and rounded. His muscles were large, intimidating, and it was rather amusing to put a man of his build in the suits and dress shirts he would put on. It was almost comical. Ilsa was glad she had him come with her to get some more form fitting outfits. But while Chance was bulged and rounded in muscle, Guerrero wasn't... At least not bulged.

He was a smaller male, but like Chance he had his muscles. They were simple compact and hardened. When he had his shirt off, which this would have to be the second time she'd ever seen him without one, she couldn't help but be slightly captured by the way they rippled when he moved his arm to move something. His back was even refined and angled... With an odd blue butterfly tattoo on his shoulder. That one tattoo was out of place on his body. It was curious to look at, but she felt she shouldn't. So she did her best to forget about it. She'd ask Winston or Chance or even Ames later.

Blinking out of her trackless thoughts, Ilsa stared back at the screen and yawned once more. She wasn't a fan of sports and she was rather tired now. She had no idea what time it was, but she was sure it was late. Scooting down into the couch, Ilsa tucked her feet tighter and turned at an angle so her head could rest against the back of the couch as she distantly watched the TV, her sight blackening in and out.

**-0-**

Guerrero rolled his eyes at the misplay his team had just done, grunting as he heard Chance laugh as he got up to go make more popcorn for them, both actually kind of forgetting Ilsa was tehre. She was being quiet and now that Guerrero thought about it, that was a little weird. She'd been protesting and gagging throughout the film, so the fact that she wasn't huffing about being forced to watch sports was odd.

Glancing over to look at her, he pulled back, though not fast enough, as Ilsa slowly fell to her side, her head landing on his shoulder and her legs stretching out a little to place her feet where Chance had been seated. He grumbled and tried to shift his shoulder to wake her, only for hr head to fall forward and her cheek land on his leg, her hand gripping at him like he was a pillow, before she sighed in content and her breathing evened out. Her hair tickled his stomach as he stared down at her, brow raised. She was really asleep. Damn.

He sat back and shrugged. He wasn't going to move. He was comfortable and the game was still on. So when Chance returned and gave him a "What the hell?" kinda of look, he simply shrugged and snatched the popcorn, making sure none fell on Ilsa as Chance found a new chair to sit at.

All the while, Ilsa smiled softly in her sleep, dreaming a forgettable and lucid dream.

**R & R Plz**

**Also yes I said that the next piece would be longer and the last one, but I guess I change my mind cause I have a few more I'd like to post. Perhaps, if this goes to twenty chapters, that'll be the last one I post. Or I may just post it as an individual fic. Eh. We'll see ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **I have a sick fascination with these kind of scenes...

* * *

><p><strong>Blood<strong>

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

A gasp of air and shock. That was all he heard. All that came from his mouth as a familiar warmth splattered his clothes, all over him. Everything shifted. The world slowed down, and everything but them, him and her, disappeared.

Shock. It painted her face before melting away to pain as she clutched her side. Her skin was already paling as she touched her side, and pulled her hand free to stare down at the crimson liquid, whispering his name as she began to fall. "M-Mr. G-Guerrero?"

She fell to her side, her body curling into herself as his control, his mind, snapped. He snarled, no longer sounding human, but like an animal; a rabid beast. His gun went up and he fired. He fired at the grinning face of the goon who'd shot her. Bullet after bullet, click after clcik of his fingers. He fired even after he'd wasted all the ammo. He kept firing as he slide on his knees to her side.

He dropped the gun to press at the wound, yelling at her to keep her eyes open. She stared at him with slow dimming eyes, her lips parted as she tried to speak. He yelled at her to be quiet, to not close her eyes, to not move as her hand reached over to grasp his hand over her wounds.

"S-Shouldn't yell... Yell at a proper woman, M-Mr. Guerrero," she coughed, smiling at him as blood, her blood, dripped from the corner of her mouth. "Y-You know very well we-we don't listen when y-you yell..." Her voice trailed off as she she squeezed his hand the best she could, before the leftover light in her eyes dimmed and her body began to go cold.

He yelled. Yelled at her to not leave. Yelled over Ames's sobs, telling her to get a medic. He clutched her to his chest as he yelled for Chance. Yelled at Winston as he just stood by, having walked in on the scene, his eyes closed in pain.

He hugged her to him, his clothes and body begin coated in her life, in Ilsa's blood, as he cried. As actual tears fell from his steel blue eyes onto her pale cheeks.

**R & R Plz**

**Felt like writing something sad, ya know?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **I was sick and depressed and this seemed appropriate

* * *

><p><strong>Disease and Drugs<strong>

She was going to be it. She would be the death of him.

The woman was a disease. His disease. She was like a contagious virus. She was slowly causing symptoms, issues, to occur with him – inside him – that was really starting to change him. He didn't like that. He really didn't.

That's why he was here. Why he was standing in her apartment. Why he was by her bed, watching her sleep. Most would call that creepy, but not him. He called it checking up. He did this a lot now. He had to check on her. Always watching, always making sure she was safe. That she wasn't slipping up and causing them trouble – causing him trouble.

Or so he told himself. At least he tried to tell himself. Ah who the fuck was he kidding. He knew better. He'd warned Chance plenty of times not to try and cover your feelings – and that your feelings could get you in trouble. And now it was happening to him. Heh. Karma was a bitch indeed.

She shifted and he was pulled from his thoughts, ready to jump and hide deep in the shadows and sneak out if he needed to. But she simply shifted and sighed softly, mumbling softly and incoherently in her sleep, before she stopped moving and was once again silent, her breathing the only sound she made from her lips.

He allowed himself to relax once more as he carefully reached out and pushed a strand of her hair from her face and pulled the covers up and over her trembling shoulders. Soft. He was going soft. His immune system – his mental barriers – were weakening from constantly being around her. She was like a bad drug from a used needle – you knew you shouldn't take it and keep coming back for it, but you do anyway.

Damn. Just... Damn. Chance really had rubbed off on him. He had once told Winston that a guy has armor, and that ever armor is bound to have cracks in it... Looks like she had found her way, somehow, through a crack he didn't even know he had in his armor.

Again his thoughts were broken by Ilsa shifting. He stared down at her and watched her brow knit and her mouth part in a whimper. A nightmare? He watched as she curled into herself and clutched her hand around a chunk of the pillow, his eyes widening just slightly as she whispered in pure fear "Guerrero..."

He stood still, a shadow over his eyes, as he clinched his fist. Was she having a nightmare about him? Or was he the nightmare? Should he wake her then dash? Should.. Wait... Why did he care? That caught him off-guard. And he had to keep from groaning. Damn damn damn, dude. He reached up and clutched at his hair, tugging lightly as he backed away from her bed until the back of his leg bumped against a chair near the bed.

Everything was wrong. His senses were broken and his mind was too focused on one thing, distracting him from everything else. His reaction to things were slower unless they involved his distraction, and he felt the need to always be near what his distraction was.

Disease. A drugging disease. That's what this was. That's what she was. And that's why, all through the night, he stayed until she woke. Why he wasn't at work until later, shrugging off Ilsa's scorn and concern for the slight bags under his eyes. Why he ignored the almost pitying and understanding look Chance gave him as they went through the day.

**R & R Plz**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **It was just something random that came to mind that I thought was funny. Kinda silly stupid really, but I like it :P

* * *

><p><strong>Sweet<strong>

There was something satisfying about watching someone who was a picture of etiquette and control – someone who had to come off as an unbreakable wall – break. Not in a way that made them emotional and wrecked. No by break he meant in control.

Really this had all started out as a little fun on his part. He'd thought it amusing to sneak into her apartment – she really needed to look into a place with better security – and rummage through her draws. He thought it amusing to leave a fun gift in her drawer and leave, hoping that she wouldn't question their appearance and would be wearing them at work.

He didn't wish or hope for luck. He didn't really believe in it. But it seemed he had some – or something – cause when Friday rolled around, as she was sitting in her office and typing away at her computer, manicured nails adding an extra click to each time she tapped a key, he leaned back in his spot on the couch in the living room, crouching down as his hand gripping what looked like a simple remote.

He smirked as he hovered his thumb over a button that looked like two arrows pointing left or right, hitting the right button, and smirking as a light on the remote flickered green and he heard a loud and startled cry, fingers sleeping and hitting the keys.

He didn't look up from his tea, sipping the warm contents as he smoothly hit the up button, the light blinking each time his thumb pounded the button, smirking as strangled gasp erupted from the office. Chance, who had been walking down the stairs, glanced in through the open door and frowned, asking her if she was OK.

At that point he took the chance to feign curiosity and realization, as he glanced behind him at his red faced boss as she shifted her legs around. She put on an almost convincing smile of comfort, blabbering that she was fine, legs jerking as he pushed the up button.

Chance, either falling for the fake "everything's fine" act or thinking she wanted to be left alone by the way she wouldn't look up at him, gave a light nod before scratching his head and leaving the office to look for Winston in the kitchen. As soon as Chance was gone, he slipped up leisurely from his seat and kept the remote concealed as he watched her hunch slightly over her desk as he made his way to the kitchen, hitting the button up. He only had two more levels to go now.

He took his time getting another cup of tea before walking out of the kitchen, ignoring Ames's blabbering as he walked around the corner to find Ilsa shaking as she stared at the screen of her computer, which was now on standby mode. She seemed unable to move from her spot as her foot and right leg twitched violently.

He sipped his tea and walked to stand in the doorway, leaning against the side as she looked up. She blinked and looked at his hand as he pulled out the black remote, a sinister and playful, wolfish grin on his face as she bit down on her tongue and went stiff and shaking as he hit the button up to as high as the device.

He watched her come down from the forced euphoria of what he'd made her do with the simple press of a button, before she stood up and threw her name plate and a mirror cup holding pencils at him, which he dodged easily before shutting the door and letting her yell at him, enjoying the way she seemed to loose her pose and control.

It was a sweet victory.

**R & R Plz**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **Thought of this while I was at home and mom was cleaning the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Bleach<strong>

Ilsa liked to clean. When she was happy, stressed, or just out of boredom, she would clean. She liked to feel her hands scrubbing and working away at grim and dirt around her. She liked to feel like she was a real homely woman when she cleaned.

She did not, however, like to clean blood off her carpet. Her _white _carpet! Her spotless, expensive, white carpet! Especially blood and dirt coated on someones boots as he stomped through her living-room to her bathroom! When she has let him in the window, seeing the few cuts and bruises on his face, she'd been concerned. But when he'd shrugged off her concern and had asked to use her shower, stating she was the closes to his area of just done dirty deed, she'd complied, but was furious at the blood and dirt being tracked through her apartment!

So, once he'd kicked off his boots and clothes, she had angrily taken the boots and thrown them into the sink for him to clean off, as she was forced to go to the closet and grab the one thing she didn't want to mess with when it came to cleaning; the bleach.

She hated the smell. It made her dizzy and later a headache would form. Scowling and covering her nose as best she could, she coughed as she opened the large carton of bleach and tipped it to its side to allow the liquid to pour out and coat the blood stains in the carpet, before quickly capping the carton and grabbing a wire scrubber.

She paused however, when she noticed that she was in her nice clothes. Bleach would ruin them. Sighing, she quickly walked to her bedroom and put on a pair of shorts and a white cotton t-shirt that was to large for her – one of Chances shirts that he had gave her after a mission had her falling into freezing cold water.

Sighing in content, she left her feet bare as she went back to the living-room to scrub at the carpet, scrunching her nose as the bleach assaulted her nose and already began to work on a headache. She was going to have a few words with her "guest" when he got out of the shower!

She scrubbed away, scrubbing even when her arms grew tired, until she got to the last footprint, which the bleach alone was starting to already cover and eat away at the stain the blood would've made, getting rid of the dirt easily enough. She pushed a strand of hair out of her face with her pinky, before she went to scrubbing the last bit of blood and getting back on her feet to look over her work, satisfied.. Even though she now had a major headache.

She put the wire scrubber in the sink and put the capped carton of bleach up. Popping in some Tylenol with a glass of water quickly, she sighed and walked over to her bed. She dimmed her lights to a faint glow and laid down on her back, her fingers slowly working at her temples as she closed her eyes.

A few minutes later she heard the shower shut off and shuffling inside the bathroom. She only moved when he opened the door and bright light went spread into the room like an unwanted beacon, which he quickly shut off when she let out a painful whimper and almost curled in on herself.

Her eyes, having scrunched up, relaxed, still closed, as she tried to relax again. She could feel eyes on her and she could just make out a dull movement from him, before the bed sank on her left side and in quick and fairly gentle movements, her pillow was lifted and placed on his lap before her hands were pried from her temples and replaced with his. She didn't say anything, simple sighed as larger hands, hands working far more gently than she thought someone like him ever could, massaged her temple. And it felt good.

His fingers working at her headache and feeling rather drained, Ilsa began to drift off, but not before mumbling an order of "clean your bloody boots or take them off before stepping on my carpet again," earning a snort and chuckle from the male as she finally drifted off.

**R & R Plz :]**

**Bleach gives me a headache if I'm exposed to it for to long (also makes me wanna throw up as well but I left that out) so that's were I got the whole idea from :P**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **I like seeing couples try to exercise their trust in each other, ya know? Plus I like tying people up... Kind of a kink for me... :P

* * *

><p><strong>Wild<strong>

"Ilsa... What is that on your wrist?"

Oh bollocks! She had thought her bracelets would be able to cover the markings up. "Oh it's nothing, Connie. Just a little rope burns is all..." Connie sat down her cup of tea as she stared at the light red marks on Ilsa's wrist. They had been darker last night. But thankfully – like he said they would – they began to disappear.

"What on Earth have you been doing? I thought you said you weren't doing anything dangerous in this new project of yours?" Ever since Guerrero, Chance, and Winston had saved her and Connie and a lot of other people at the opera house, Connie had open up more to the idea of what her team did. She did not, however, want Ilsa doing anything dangerous. To leave it to them.

Ilsa would never tell her that she'd been doing the opposite. She'd put herself in the line quit enough times now – time that almost got her kidnapped or shot or even raped! - and the team was always good at making sure things really didn't escalate to worse than mildly dangerous. "How did you get those?" Connie asked, drawing Ilsa from her thoughts.

Ilsa looked down at her wrist and thought about what had happened last night. It really had been unexpected. It shouldn't have been but it had when she suddenly found _she was perfectly pinned to the bed, him looming over her in a dangerous but sensual kind of way, his hands holding her wrist together in a tight, but not painful, grip. She'd stared up at him, confused, only to hum in approval as he bent down and bit lightly at her shoulder before licking at his bite mark to soothe the sting, nipping his way up her neck._

_She tried to free her hands to touch him – she wanted to touch him, dammit – but his grip was strong. He sat up again and she looked up at him, pouting. He smirked as he moved to straddle her naked body, him only half naked with his sweat pants still on._

_"You trust me, boss?" He asked, and that caught her off guard. He'd never really asked her that before. At least not out loud. He'd given her a look and he'd even tested her, but h'ed never asked it. It was almost surreal and foreign. But of course she did. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't crazy. She wouldn't be doing this with him – in some motel in a shady part of L.A. - if she didn't._

_"Of course I do," she said, her eyes not leaving him as she gave him a puzzled look, still wondering why he would ask something like that. She knew he had trust issues but still. He suddenly let go of his wrist and leaned over the side of the bed, still straddling her. She lowered her hands and blinked as she heard something – was that his tackle box contents? - being shifted around. For just a few seconds she felt scared. That tackle box held a lot of content and a lot – no _all _of it – could be used to hurt her. But her fear was dashed for more confusion as he sat up and held a rope in his hands._

_She tilted her head as he grabbed her wrist again. And she didn't struggle when he brought them above her head. She did however let her eyes widen just a little and a blush to coat her face as she realized what he was planning, as skillfully looped his rope around her wrist before looping them to the metal bars of the old bed they were in. He tugged on the rope to test how tight he had it._

_She tugged one, twice, moved her hands and felt she could still feel circulation in her hand, before she looked back up at him. He gave her a wolfish smirk as he again perfectly straddled her waist, not pressing to much weight on her, but enough to keep her from moving._

_Ilsa's breath hitched as he ground himself against her core, the rough fabric of his jeans creating a friction against her bare womanhood, as his rough and calloused hands gripped and kneaded them, pinching her hardening nubs to stone._

_She gasped and whimpered, wiggling and tugging at her restrained hands. His hands were rough on her breast, but it was a pleasurable pain that she was feeling, growing more as he bent down and used his canines to bite down and tug on them. Hard. Her body arched before she had to slam back down, the restraints not allowing her to get closer to the contact. She whined and growled in frustration._

_"P-Please, oh please," she panted, trying to grind herself against him as he continued to bite and knead her breast, which were now painfully sensitive, sending a throbbing want to her core, which was wet and ready for him. He smirked in an almost cocky way as she pleaded for him. In the beginning it had taken a lot of force to get her to beg. Now she didn't care._

_He slide off her, removing the warmth his body was making on her lower stomach, as he removed his sweat pants and boxers, before sliding up to grab her legs and hoist them up onto his shoulders. She gasped as he reached up and spread her glistening lips, blowing warm breath against her, causing her to cry out. "You're a little wet, boss," he whispered, his voice husky, as she let out a strangled cry as his tongue roughly glided over her wet folds and dipped in to flick inside her core._

_His tongue stroked, finding her sensitive nub of flesh, flicking his tongue and sucking on it, electing loud screams and whines from her. He was killing her! Dear God! She panted and bucked, her legs tightening and heels digging into his back as her lower body quivered. He ran his tongue once, twice, three times fully over her wet folds, before his index and middle finger were stroking her as he crawled up her body to growl and push his lips against hers. She could taste herself on his tongue as they danced together, his fingers stroking her._

_"What do you want, boss?" he asked, panting as he could feel his want, hard against her inner thigh. She parted her lips and groaned out his name. "I want you! I bloody want you inside me now!" she was pleading and ordering now, as she yanked at her restraints, wanting to slap him for his smug look. "You're the boss, boss," he grinned, grinding himself against her before pressing against her opening. He only went to the head at first and held back. He didn't move, and she wanted to cry._

_This was hell! He was being so horrible! She whined and wiggled her hips, trying to force him in __deeper, before her legs instantly wrapped around his waist and with more force than she knew she had, she pulled him down roughly, slamming his length deep inside her. He let out a gurgled groan and she screamed in pleasure. He began, instantly, to roughly thrust inside her. She fueled him on, groaning and crying out his name, squealing and mewing when he hit her in just the right spot, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist to keep him as deep and close to her as was possible as he rode her without holding back, there cries and pants mixing loudly in the room as he screamed and he roared as they released._

All that moving around, while he'd been going at her like some animal in heat, she'd tugged harder and painfully at her restraints, causing the marks in her wrist. She'd done well at hiding them from Chance – though she had a slight feeling that he knew about her and _him_.

"I got them from a sort of exercise in trust from Mr. Guerrero," she finally answered Connie as she went to take another sip of her tea, which was now getting cold. Connie raised a brow. "You would think that after three years he'd trust you more," she huffed. Ilsa smiled a sort of secret smile as she went to pour herself a warmer cup from the soft boiling kettle. "I think after this he really does know I trust him, and I think he trusts me now."

Connie smiled. "Well that's good. I just wish he wouldn't go to such wild lengths to get that way. It's rather barbaric to me." Ilsa smirked. Connie had no idea just how wild that man, and she, could be.

**R & R**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **I have a thing for slight character torture... My bad

* * *

><p><strong>Cry<strong>

She never wanted to see him cry. Never thought she would. Hell if she was being truthful with herself she could honestly say that she didn't know he was capable of crying. That she deluded herself to believing that somehow he had burned his tear-ducts (or something science fiction like that) to keep himself from doing so.

But Chance... And the gun... Her fault... She choked as she curled in on herself. This wasn't suppose to happen. It was suppose to be a bloody simple mission! Just keep the client safe and get the bad guy away... But the man was more unstable than they were all prepared for. Guerrero had shot him! Shot him in the chest and he... He'd kept moving! He just kept running at them, blood pouring from him and out hi mouth from the holes in his stomach and he... He'd gone for her. His gun had been rigtht at body and Chance had just.. .He'd... He'd played a human target!

And now he... He was in the hospital. Guerrero had gotten the guy. Had shot him in the head. Ilsa had screamed. That's all she could do. Scream for Chance. Scream for Guerrero to stop. Scream at the gore and disgust of the man being shot through his left eye. Scream for help as she held Chance's bleeding form to her. It was right below the heart. He was gonna die!

But Winston got the ambulance there and she wouldn't leave his side. She had wanted to stay all night but Winston – bless him for trying so hard to keep everyone calm – had insisted, no _forced_her to go. To go home and get some rest. She hadn't gone home though.

She'd gone back to the office and just stood in the living-room where she found Guerrero sitting alone, in the dark, with a bottle of scotch and this dead look on his face. Ames was upstairs. She was crying. Ilsa ignored her hitching breaths and loud sobs as she stood and stared at Guerrero, who didn't acknowledge her in anyway. This was her fault. Why couldn't she have moved. Run. Why? Chance could die because of her!

Ilsa began to cry, and slowly slide to her knees, her head against the couch Guerrero sat on. She shook and hiccuped and cried, whispering the only thing she could force out. "It's m-my fault, M-Mr. G-Guerrero... It's my fault!" That was all she could manage, all her lips could form as her bleary eyes stared at him as a single tear fell down his cheek and dripped to the floor off his jawline, which was clinched as he gripped the bottle hard.

But he didn't say anything, and she didn't either. She let him cry. She would never speak of it again if Chance survived – no, not if! He would survive dammit. But right now, at this moment, she watched him cry. Watched the king of torture, the supposedly emotionless bastard of the team, shed tears in his drunkin and angry state. And it hurt as much as seeing Chance hurt.

**R & R Plz**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **I like this color :3

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><p><strong>Green<br>**  
>His fist opened and clinched. So hard that his knuckles cracked instantly. His jaw squared and his back teeth grit together as he leaned back as he lowered his binocular – a gift from his son. Nice brand. Expensive and top of the line. Good gift – as he stared out from his spot perched on top of the hotel roof at the other hotel across from him, into a specific room where his boss was getting ready for bed after a date she'd had with some dude from the foundation – a Harlan Murphy, CEO of Harlan security and a wealthy bachelor.<p>

The date, much to his distaste, seem to have gone well. Ilsa couldn't seem to stop smiling that pleased smile she had plastered on her face right now. He wasn't sure why, but he hated that smile. At least he didn't like what had caused it. Pretty boys always rubbed him the wrong way. Guys like Harlan who got women just because they looked like some damn runway model and had money to fling were on his list of fuck offs.

Now that's not to say he was condemning men like Harlan for being able to pick up women – hell he was a pro at that himself, if he was to be so bold and cocky – because that would be hypocritical. No he just didn't like that he wasn't doing anything to original. All he had to do was swish his hair, give a smile, and maybe a flash a few bucks and he was good. No class to it.

He scoffed as he recalled how flashy smile and swish he'd been with the widow of the late Marshall Pucci. It had made him want to shoot the guy. That would have at least been original – dieing on your first date with a chick. But what really got him annoyed – what really made him want to hurl – was that Ilsa was responding to the crap he was giving her. It was pathetic!

Thinking about it made his jaw clinch and his nail dig into his palm. He was so focused on his thoughts – so focused on the new pain in his hand – that he almost hadn't heard his phone go off. He blinked and looked down at his phone and saw an unknown number – not uncommon but still rare, seeing as not many people that had his number that wasn't listed – flash across his screen.

Hitting the answer button on his iPhone, he pressed the phone to his ear. "This is Guerrero," he answered. "If you're done spying on me, would you like to come to my room for some tea, Guerrero?" she asked in such a way that he could hear a smile. He raised a brow and pressed his binoculars to his eyes and looked out at her room, amused to find her giving a soft wave at him, before walking to her kitchen to look over the tea.

"Sure, boss. See you in five, give or take," he smirked before turning off the phone and stuffing it in his pocket as he got to his feet, stuffing the binoculars in his bag as he casual made his way to the stairway to head down.

**R & R Plz**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.

**Authoress Note:**These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~

**Extra Note: **You know that Starburst trick? I can do that!

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><p><strong>Cherry<strong>

A quiet day. It was rare to have such a relatively quiet day at the office. Winston and Ames were out for the day, Ames for a friends baby shower and Winston for an old friend from the forces Wedding. Chance and Guerrero were her only company – along with Carmine of course. Those usually when those two were left alone they could get rather noisy and expensive from the damages they tend to make. But startlingly enough they were quiet.

… And that's what troubled her. She sat at her desk and typed away at her computer, and listened. Nothing. An occasional shuffling of feet or even something stirring in the kitchen. But it wasn't a turmoil sound. It was almost natural, calm. She typed away at the computer but found that the sound was to loud, too echoing today. Where were those two?

It was rather amusing. Normally she would kill for some peace and quiet to get her work done – and now all she craved was some symbolism of normal; as normal as one can get around here anyway. Finally having enough, Ilsa closed out of her documents after saving them and logge dout of her computer before standing and exiting her office in search.

She started in the living-room of course. But all she found was Carmine sleeping on the couch, his big head resting on his paws as he eyed her sleepily, before snoozing off again. So she headed for the kitchen... Where she was greeted with a mess! Ice-cream, syrup, bowls of different things; chocolate chips, gummy worms, peanuts, cherry's. The ground was slightly sticky as she stepped deeper into the kitchen to glare at the table where she found the men she'd been searching for, each poised with what appeared to be whip-cream cans aimed at each other. What?

"What on earth- Mr. Guerrero1 Mr Chance! What is the meaning of this?" she exclaimed in disbelief, stepping over a bowl of MnM's that had fallen unceremoniously on the floor. The two men stopped and stared at her, both still having their cans aimed at each other. Ilsa was amused, though she wouldn't admit it, to find that each was covered in whip-cream and syrup, both only wearing sweatpants and wife-beaters.

"Hey boss," Guerrero said with a nod, before turning to Chance. "Your move, dude." Chance looked away from Ilsa to grin at Guerrero, the can going back up as both looked ready for a shoot out with the dairy product! "Mr. Chance, Mr. Guerrero! This is childish! I demand you clean this mess up at once!" she exclaimed. This was embarrassing! What if a client showed up? They couldn't very well give a veil of professionalism with a mess like this out for everyone to see!

Chance and Guerrero shared a look with each other. As they lowered their cans slightly. Good. Now maybe she could-"Aaaaah! No! No! Stop it! Stoopp!" Her thoughts were shut-off as Chance and Guerrero instantly turned on her, whip-cream being shot at her! She flailed and tried to stop it from hitting her... And laughed. Why was she laughing? This wasn't funny1 She was getting messy! What if the foundation called for a video meetin- Oh who cares!

Ilsa laughed out right and smirked as she grabbed a handful of nearby gummy worms and hurled it at them before grabbing an extra can of whip-cream and shooting. Chance smirked as she threw peanuts at them. He made a motion to Guerrero, who smirked and dived around under the table to get Ilsa from behind. Ilsa squealed and started throwing objects in both directions, occasionally hitting one or the other with some of the whip-cream.

This lasted for about an hour and a half before they were all on the ground smiling. Ilsa wiped at her face to remove as much of the syrup, which Mr. Guerrero had resorted to using when his can ran out, from her face. Her hair was sticking to her scalp from the syrup and whip-cream, occasional toppings matted in as well.

Although she should be mad about the state she was in – and for that matter the boys for acting so childish – she found that she had needed this. She'd been stressed a lot lately and this had been a perfect relaxer. Even if it was childish and very messy.

They sat in Silence as Ilsa removed a glob of whip-cream from her hair and flicked it to the side at Guerrero, who scowled. He'd just gotten his glasses clean enough to see out of. Ilsa smiled innocently as Chance snickered before he smacked his hands together, whip-cream and syrup splashing everywhere. "So who gets first shower?" he asked and they all chuckled.

"I'm quit alright with waiting if you or Mr. Guerrero wish to go first," Ilsa said. And she was. She'd gotten use to her sticky mess coating her skin by now, so she wasn't in a rush. Guerrero gave a passive shrug, and Chance grinned before hoping to his feet as him and Guerrero shared some hidden look, before he headed upstairs, leaving syrupy foot-prints in his wake.

Ilsa pushed herself off the ground and sat down in one of the messy chairs as Guerrero followed. She looked down at the messy table and perked up as she spotted a still full bowl of cherry's. They were the kind of cherry's people would see in food magazines – perfect looking, stem and all. Ilsa pulled the bowl to herself and plucked one from the bowl and rolled it around in her head.

"Marshall and I use to love to share a bowl of these when we'd go on trips," she whispered aloud, as Gurrero cleaned his glasses off as best he could once again. "It was a reminder of our second date, really. Heh... Marshall's face was priceless." Ilsa looked at the cherry in concentration. "Hmm... I do wonder if I can still...?" she popped the cherry in her mouth, stem and all. She slowly moved her mouth around.

Across from her, Guerrero raised a brow, only to go just a little wide eyed as she reached up to her mouth a pulled out the stem, which was now tied in a perfect, though a little loose, knot. She beamed as she licked her lips of the cherry juice and twirled the stem between her thumb and index finger. She noticed Guerrero's slightly surprised look as she chuckled. "When I was younger my friends and I use to be able to pop Starburst in our mouth and undue the wrappers with our tongues. We thought it was a rather naughty habit to have until Connie, who I'd known before I met Marshall, found out about the cherry stem trick. We all gave it a try. Me and my friend Charlie were the only ones that could do it."

She sat the stem down and went for two cherry's. She only twisted one, wile the other she was able to push through the loop and pull it out. She hadn't done this in a long time. Not since Marshall passed. She forgot how much jaw and tongue muscle it took to perfect being able to do this. She was a little rusty, but only slightly.

By the time Chance had finished, She'd tied ten cherry stems up before Guerrero let her have the shower next. She opted to use her office shower. She'd forgotten about it, meaning Guerrero could still shower upstairs if he wished. Finishing the eleventh cherry, Ilsa pushed herself from the chair and walked to her office. She hadn't finished closing the door when she heard Guerrero mumble something about "tongue uses" and "cold showers" as he headed up the stairs?

She listened as he made it upstairs, not bothering to be stealthy, before shrugging. She'd learn to not try to understand someone like Mr. Guerrero and just accept that he was who he was; even if at times that was odd.

**R & R Plz**

**Next two chapters go together and will be the end of these one-shots so I hope after this you'll have enjoyed reading them as much as I have enjoyed writing them.**


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